


don't forget where you belong

by bistiles (alis)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (as a kid tho), Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Other Pack(s), Pack, Shared pack, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alis/pseuds/bistiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is an emissary in training, about to start his freshman year at college. He had hopes for a new start, but he got more than he expected: old and new friends, a pack of wolves and maybe even love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't forget where you belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/gifts).



> [Please, don't post this work anywhere outside AO3, be it Goodreads or any other website]

The sky was still dark and moonless, dotted with almost invisible stars and heavy clouds, even if it was almost five in the morning. It wouldn’t be long before the sun broke the darkness, shining pale on the trees that now cast horrific shadows on the ground. There was a stillness in the forest at night that made even the small noises more terrifying than they should be.

It wasn’t terrifying for Hale, though. The darkness usually felt soothing, another mantle he could use to keep himself concealed from the enemies, and with his eyes, it’s wasn’t hindering him in any way. He could see perfectly: the shape of the trees, the small movement of a scared bunny running from his path, a bat flying low, before going up between the branches. The stillness never feel like it, not when Hale could hear any sound going around him, from the soft rustle of the leaves moving gently in the slightly breeze, to insects making noises. Hale could hear what was happening far away from him, several miles of distance and it felt soothing, knowing he could spot anything trying to spring on him beforehand.

But in that night there was no solace, no comfort in the familiar shapes and sounds, because there was an unknown scent in the air.

The scent of another werewolf.

At first, Hale didn’t even register it; it was faint and discreet, like the werewolf had had the trouble to keep his scent as concealed as possible. And he did a good job at that. Even an alpha like Hale couldn’t pick it at first. It was safe to say it would go by undetected, if the wind hadn’t blow the right way, carrying with it the scent of a invader.

Fury had filled Hale the moment he felt it, anger and fear and anxiety for a fight he wasn’t sure if was going to come his way. He started to follow the trail, but there was so little of the scent left that Hale had to stop and search blindly in several occasions.

It had been early evening when he started. Now the moon isn’t even visible anymore.

He searched and searched, eyes bleeding red and helping him find the way, but he couldn’t find anything. He knew where the strange wolf had roamed, he knows that it’s been around his territory for awhile. There was wisps of scent fainter and almost non-existent, small inconclusive clues that led Hale nowhere.

He only knew the intruder was a werewolf. Male. Not really old. And powerful. An alpha like Hale himself. Smart and ill-intended like Hale wasn’t. Accompanied by betas.

A pack.

Hale stopped in his tracks, sniffing the air and growling in frustration when the scent was lost again. Hale knew it was futile to keep tracking. The pack had gone out of their way to make himself untrackable and they had succeeded. Their scents were still in the woods, but they led nowhere. That pack had known exactly what to do, how to throw Hale off the game, how to keep themselves hidden from Hale’s betas, even though they patrol these woods constantly. It was their territory and it was theirs to keep safe and undisputed.

It wasn’t the case now.

Giving up the chase, Hale pulled his mobile out of his pocket and checked the screen. It was almost five now and he could see the first rays of sun tinging the blackness to purple. He unlocked the device, seeking any receptions of signal, but there was none, not this deep inside the woods. Hale knew his pack wouldn’t see it until morning came anyway, though, so he had time to get back into civilization and mass-text them.

He would let them sleep unperturbed for a little longer, before having them worried about a possible pack war.

 

* * *

 

If Stiles were to talk about things he was always excited for, college totally ranked a solid #2 on his list, topped only by maybe a complete remake of _Back To The Future_. If that ever happened, he would probably be unable to sleep for three days straight, he would be _that_ excited.

Still, college was a close second, and one that was actually likely to happen. Not only likely, but something that was true, even if Stiles was still slightly surprised that he was, indeed, unpacking his things in what would be his room for the next year. It wasn’t that he never thought he would get into college; Stiles knew he had a chance. He was smart enough to get into most of his choices, but it had arrived way faster than he thought it would. One day he was sitting in the cafeteria of his high school, and the next, he was packing to move. Granted, maybe he felt like that because there had been so much happening to him in high school, but still.

He sighed happily and sat down on his brand new mattress, bouncing a bit on it before flopping backwards. The ceiling had a weird spot, probably from water damage, but not even that could put a damper on Stiles’ happiness.

“Hey son, did you pick all boxes from the car?”

Stiles propped himself up on his elbows and nodded at his father. The Sheriff was still dressed in his work clothes, all man-of-the-law-special, but Stiles didn’t even care about the weird stares from his future classmates. His dad had taken off straight from a night shift to drive with Stiles to his dorm and help him move in; he was too grateful for his dad’s efforts to even be remotely embarrassed. Also he had a way higher threshold for embarrassment than most people.

“Yep, think so. I’m pretty sure I’ll remember something I forgot at home at some point, but so far, I think I’m good.”

John nodded and hesitated by the door, seeming weirdly pensive for a moment. Stiles patted the spot by his side of the bed. He should have probably put some sheets over the mattress, but he could do that in a moment.

“Thanks, daddy-o.” Stiles said with a smirk, bumping shoulders with his dad. John rolled his eyes, as if he were exasperated with Stiles behavior, but Stiles knew better. His dad was way too used to him to be exasperated with so little. “So, I hope you’re gonna eat your veggies and keep your low-meat diet?”

His dad cuffed him behind the head, without any strength on it, making Stiles laugh happily.

“Who should be giving whom recommendations here, huh?”

“Me, obviously. We both know I’m the responsible adult between us two.” Stiles said straight-faced, making the Sheriff laugh out loud in return. He smiled to himself, because not many things made him as happy as seeing his dad smiling.

God knows life - and Stiles himself - gave the Sheriff reasons not to be.

“Do I need to have _The Talk_ with you?” John asked with a raised eyebrow, and Stiles made a face.

“Nope. We covered that in junior year.”

“Yeah, but I know how college is, son. I’ve been there.”

“Oh good god, is this where you tell me embarrassing stories of your youth? Because I really don’t need to know about that. Unless it’s stuff I can use for leverage if I screw up, not that I’m thinking about screwing up! I fully intend on being a perfect model student.”

John looked at Stiles with his trademark look of exasperation. “We both know you couldn’t be a perfect model of anything, unless of what you shouldn’t be, Stiles.”

“Ouch, dad. That was mean,” Stiles said, rubbing his chest as if the words were a physical blow. He wasn’t particularly upset by them though; his dad did have a point.

“Just please, don’t get arrested, don’t put yourself in danger, and please, wear protection, okay?”

“Daaaaad,” Stiles whined, throwing himself back on the bed. “I know okay. Please don’t give me the condom talk. I don’t think I could live it down.”

“Son, if I survived finding your stash of-”

“OKAY, we are _not_ remembering this, thanks.”

John chuckled and Stiles sat up before nudging his dad on the shoulder with his own. They traded smiles and his dad put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. They weren’t the most tactile family but they had their moments, and Stiles cherished them with childish affection.

“You take care of yourself, you hear me?” John said, his tone less joking and more loving.

Stiles nodded, knowing that it was paternal worry talking, something he once upon a time probably would resent, but now just made him warm inside. They had been through too much together for Stiles not to.

“Have you contacted your new teacher?” John asked, and Stiles looked at him for a moment, confused.

“You mean my new mentor?”

His dad nodded, with that weird air of awkwardness he always had when they had to talk about Stiles powers. Stiles knew that his father wasn’t repulsed with what he was - he could never be, not when they both knew his mom had been the same way. It was more that kind of embarrassment that came with talking seriously about things that were supposed to be only myth.

“Yeah, I sent him an email yesterday before we left, letting him know we would arrive today.” Stiles said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He waved it a bit, before unlocking the screen and opening this email app. “He answered this morning saying he would like to meet today or tomorrow, whatever was better for me.”

Stiles showed John the screen and his dad scanned the email quickly before nodding. It was a succinct, polite email from some guy named Alan Deaton. He had come recommended by his previous mentor, Morrell. She had said that there was no one better to help Stiles with his developing powers than this Deaton guy and, well, Stiles trusted Morrell enough to not question her choices, even if he was weirded out that Alan Deaton signed the email as a _veterinarian_.

Even emissaries have to find a way to feed themselves, Stiles supposed.

“And when are you going to see him?” John asked.

“Tonight, probably,” Stiles answered and stood up. He stretched up before walking to one of his several bags, patting them until he found the right one. “I’m just gonna do a minimal tidying up, get my stuff out of the way for my roommate and go out.”

John nodded and stood up himself. Stiles looked up from where he was pulling bed sheets and his pillow and felt a wave of sadness washing over him. This was it. His dad was leaving and they would only talk to each other through phone calls and Skype, if he could get his dad to use Skype correctly. Which luckily he would manage, since he left his old laptop at home with a Skype account set-up already.

His dad gestured for Stiles to come closer and he dropped the beddings and went. He still fitted so nicely between his dad arms, just like when he was a child. He still smelled like oil and aftershave, and it was incredibly comforting. He let himself sink deeper into the hug.

“Call me once you get home, yeah?” Stiles asked, and his father chuckled, the sound reverberating through his ribcage, making his shoulder shake.

“Shouldn’t I be feeding you this line?”

“I’m not the one hitting the road after a long shift, dad.” Stiles said in all seriousness. “You sure you don’t want to take a nap before going? I’m sure my roommate wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, son, I need to get back, I have a late shift tomorrow and I would rather sleep on my bed,” John said, gently letting Stiles go. He stepped back and nodded at his son. “I could make last minute recommendations, but if they didn’t sink in until now, I’m not sure they ever will.”

Siles laughed and discreetly rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t a crier, but he had never been away from his dad for long since he could remember. And with it only the two of them for so long, separation was hard.

“Yeah, old man, trust me, okay? I’ll be fine.” Stiles said, and they both made their way to the door.

They were in no hurry to say goodbye, but the way from Stiles bed to the door wasn’t all that long.

“Talk to you later, dad,” Stiles said with a watery smile, not that he was crying. He refused to cry, even if his eyes were watering a bit. It was probably dust.

“Later, son,” Sheriff said and he had such proud expression on his face, Stiles was having a hard time holding it. He opened the door, and his dad hesitated for a moment before slapping his cheek gently and turning to leave.

“Watch what you eat! Don’t over work! And see if you get eight hours of sleep, please,” he said to his dad retreating back. He only received a wave as answer and chuckled, before closing the door.

He was alone. He was alone in his college dorm that would be his life for the next four years.

Stiles took a deep breath and looked around. His dorm room wasn’t half bad; in fact, it was probably the nicest housing accommodation on the Davis campus - in his opinion. He had a small common area with a couch and a coffee table and shelves that were empty, but that would probably be full of books soon enough. There was also an old mini-fridge with enough stickers glued on it that was almost impossible to see its original color under all of them, but Stiles had tested it as soon as he arrived and it was working, so it was good. There was no tv yet, but he had brought his old flat screen from home, which his dad had helped him put on the wall before leaving. Stiles fully intended to set up his video games on it - he just hoped his roommates would be friendly enough about it. The bathroom would be shared with other four people, but Stiles supposed that was better than a common one anyway. Still, for a single child, growing up all alone, it seemed like a huge change - and one he wasn’t sure he would fully enjoy. Especially when he had so much to hide.

Stiles sighed and picked up some of the boxes he had to move into his bedroom. He was the first one there, probably because he was moving almost an entire week before the date he had, so he should use that time to settle as well as he could. He unpacked most of his clothes, claiming a spot at the closet for himself, chose the softest bed for himself and safely hid all his belongings that were hard to explain in a locked box in his closet. He was in the process of shelving his reference books and textbooks (also his most beloved comics), when he heard the door opening.

He came out of the bedroom just in time to see a guy getting inside. He was carrying what looked like corporal weight in bags, and Stiles stepped forward, waving awkwardly.

“Hey. Want some help?” he offered and the guy blinked owlishly at him, before nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes, please.”

They managed to haul all his stuff inside before they both collapsed on the couch, which Stiles soon discovered to be a bad idea, because the couch was hard and he was pretty sure there was a loose spring poking his butt.

“Ooow, this hurts,” Stiles moaned, and the guy grunted in concordance. He turned to the guy and extended a hand. “Name’s Stiles Stilinski. I guess I’m one of your roommates?”

“Isaac Lahey,” he answered, shaking hands. The moment they touched, though, Stiles felt a pull, a very distinct one. He gasped and pulled his hand back.

“Sorry, sorry, uh- my hand is still hurting from unpacking and all,” Stiles lied, and Isaac eyed him weirdly but didn’t call him on his lie. Stiles knew he could tell he was lying.

“Okay… I’m going to start unpacking. Are you the only one here?” Isaac asked, standing up and picking his bags. Stiles noticed how easily he was picking them up, and, even if they weren’t particularly heavy, Isaac made it seem like they weighed nothing.

Damn.

“So far, yeah. I wasn’t expecting anyone for a few days, actually,” Stiles answered and stood up, too.

Isaac frowned at the statement, and Stiles wondered if what he said could have been taken as rude in any way. They both stared at each other, and Stiles felt himself tensing up. He didn’t know if the guy knew what he was, he didn’t know if he would be hostile at all, and he just didn’t have anything on himself to defend himself from an attack.

At last, Isaac shuffled away, eyes still on Stiles.

“Yeah, I guess we’re both surprised here,” Isaac replied cryptically, before turning and going into the adjacent room, closing the door.

Stiles sighed and carded his fingers through his hair. Great. One of his roommates was a freaking _werewolf_.

 

* * *

 

By the time Stiles made it to the vet clinic where Deaton worked, the sky was already dark. The faint outline of the moon was shining in the sky, partially hidden by fat clouds. Stiles frowned, wondering if it was going to rain; he hoped he at least had enough time to go back home before it started to pour.

The clinic was a nondescript white building, and the only thing that gave away what it was were the words “Vet Clinic” painted on the side of the building with a howling dog as a logo. Stiles eyed it for a moment before knocking on the door. There was a signed written “Closed”, but the lights were still on.

It didn’t take long before a black man opened the door. Stiles had enough training to feel the power emitting from him. It felt like a whisper, like leaves rustling in the wind, and Stiles inclined his head, trying to listen to what sounds they were making.

“You must be Mr. Stilinski,” the man said, and Stiles blinked slowly. He completely forgot to say something.

“Yeah. Call me Stiles, though, Mr. Stilinski is my dad. Dr. Deaton, I presume?” Stiles answered, waving awkwardly. Deaton nodded.

“Please, come in.”

Stiles walked around the man, and the moment he crossed the threshold he felt the familiar pull of mountain ash. He wasn’t a supernatural creature, so he was immune to its barrier, but he could still feel the slight resistance in the air, like his magic was reacting to it in some way. He looked around and noticed that the door-post was made of wood, as was the doorstop.

“Mountain ash wood? Nice,” Stiles threw Dr. Deaton a smile, while the guy closed and locked the door. He didn’t answer, just shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal and gestured Stiles inside.

“It’s a necessary precaution, one I imagine you’ll take once you have a more fixed living arrangement” Deaton said, and Stiles nodded. He couldn’t do it in his room, but he could probably put mountain ash wood all around his future house. In fact, he was pretty sure he would try to convince his dad to do that in their new house. Better safe than sorry.

“Yeah, that would be cool, though I’m not planning getting into trouble,” Stiles replied, following Deaton deeper into the animal clinic.

They passed a reception, which was already empty, and several posters of dogs and cats that Stiles eyed curiously. He wanted to give them a better look, especially the breeds chart, but Deaton didn’t look like he was intent on waiting.

He pushed through a metal door and Stiles saw himself on what looked like the examination area. There was a huge metal table, sink and several shelves with things Stiles wasn’t sure he knew what they were for.

“You’ll find that trouble has a way of finding you, though.” Deaton said cryptically, his tone mild and even.

“Well, yeah, I know.” Stiles had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Deaton did seem the type to be all mysterious and he could already feel frustrating hours in his future.

At last, Deaton guided him through another door and that one ended in a small office. The walls were covered floor to ceiling in shelves and they were overflowing with books. Stiles looked in open awe, getting closer to the nearest shelf to read the titles. Several books in it were in foreign languages, some that Stiles didn’t recognize at all, and he itched to explore them.

“Those are about a specific rite,” Deaton said, closing the door and walking to the desk. “It’s very interesting cross-referencing and seeing the similarities and differences on rituals that have, more or less, the same result. There are several different ways to achieve the same goal. Some easier, some harder, some darker.”

Stiles turned to the man and leveled him a look. It seemed like Deaton was trying to say something with his enigmatic bullcrap, but Stiles decided to let it slide. There was nothing he could say back and a reply seemed out of place at any rate. So he just shrugged in response.

Deaton gave him a soft, knowing smile that grated on Stiles’ nerves, and gestured for him to sit down. Stiles did.

“Anyway, Stiles, Marin contacted me and sent me an overview of what she taught you so far. She said that you started training with her around six months ago?”

Stiles nodded, rubbing his nose in a nervous gesture. He had a bad habit of touching his face way too much, which led to several cases of pinkeye in his childhood years.

“Yeah, that was when she first found me.”

“Found you? I thought you sought her out.” Deaton frowned and Stiles gulped. He had hoped they wouldn’t cover this part, but oh well. So much for hoping.

“I didn’t.”

“How did she find you then?” Deaton asked, leaning forward. “I’ve been curious ever since she contacted me. Marin was never one to take apprentices.”

Stiles licked the roof of his mouth slowly, before taking in a deep breath and deciding he might as well bite the bullet. He doubted he would be able to find another mentor around Davis - there probably were some other emissaries lying around, but not one that was qualified to teach him -- or willing to. Emissaries always had a pack, and their duties often clashed with passing their knowledge ahead without some sort of guarantee that it would be used for the benefit of the pack they are loyal to. Or wouldn’t be used against it.

“I had a run in with… some people,” Stiles started and Deaton just looked at him, not reacting in any way. “A local pack. Back then I wasn’t aware of what I could be, but apparently they were, somehow. It ended badly.”

Deaton hummed and tapped his finger against the wooden table. “A local pack, you say.”

“Yeah.”

“How did that happen?”

Stiles huffed in annoyance and bounced his leg up and down. He didn’t want to talk about it - he still had nightmares about it, and, if it were completely up to him, he would just completely forget that ever happened.

“Look, is this necessary? I don’t see how what happened is of any relevance for training me.”

“It’s of all relevance, Mr. Stilinski, and I think it’s up to me to decide what information I need before accepting you as my apprentice, no?”

“Accept me? I thought you already had.”

“Not yet.”

Stiles groaned angrily. “Seriously? Is this an interview? Should I have dressed myself up in a suit, instead of plaid? Should we talk about dental benefits?”

Deaton didn’t seem phased by Stiles outburst, but nor did he look amused by it. He just frowned, putting a very impressive no-nonsense face on and Stiles glared back.

“Taking an apprentice is no trifling matter, as you’re probably aware. I’m not risking myself or my pack for a stranger that has no inclination on trusting me with basic information. I am an Emissary, Stiles, and if you have an ongoing vendetta with some other pack, I have to be aware and notify my pack about it.”

Stiles mulled over it, wanting to just deny all information and tell Deaton to shove his little speech where the sun doesn’t shine, but he knew better than that. He knew his irritation was more about what had happened than being asked about it. Deaton was completely within his rights, and they both knew it.

“It’s not an ongoing vendetta. Look, I was in highschool and I got involved with this guy, okay? I didn’t know at the time he was a freaking werewolf, I just thought he was some guy. He knew what I was, even when _I didn’t,_ and he thought he could get me bound to his pack by tricking me. Things got tense,” Stiles crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “Really tense.”

It still stung to think about. It wasn’t painful just because of the entire shitstorm that happened afterwards, but because Stiles had been genuinely in love with that asshole. He hadn’t coped all that well with what happened - he didn’t cope, actually, period. Stiles just got himself out of that mess, started training, finished highschool, and hightailed from to go to college.

If it were up to him, he wasn’t touching his feelings over that clusterfuck with a ten foot pole anytime soon.

“You said you used to live in Sacramento?” Deaton asked after a moment.

“Yeah.”

“So this... person you were involved with was from Aldaine pack, I presume?”

Stiles nodded mutely, rubbing his cheek continuously, until the skin under his fingers felt warm and slightly irritated.

“Hm. I understand Marin involvement now.” Deaton leaned over and pulled something from under the table. He appeared with a jar of what looked like mountain ash. “We’ll talk about this in detail another time. Right now, I would like to assess how far your training has come, if you don’t mind.”

Stiles sighed in relief and stood up, cracking his fingers in the process. He could do demonstrations.

 

* * *

 

Waking up in a bedroom was disorientating for Stiles. For several moments, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he was doing, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Then his sleep-addled brain kick into gear, and he realized that ceiling would be the first thing he would see for a long time.

He groaned and sat up, feeling his muscles ache. Deaton was relentless, and asked Stiles to demonstrate both theoretical and practical knowledge to exhaustion. It took Stiles hours to go through everything Deaton required of him, and when the other man finally considered himself satisfied, Stiles felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Walking home was more a game of stumbling and praying not to take the wrong route and he never missed his beloved Jeep as much as he did the previous night.

Still, Stiles thought as he stumbled his way out of the room, padding barefooted to the mini fridge, his bone-deep tiredness was well rewarded, because Deaton said Stiles had pretty solid knowledge and they could start training as soon as Stiles turned in his class schedules. Blessed be Deaton for foreseeing that Stiles would be tired with college and planning their training sessions to avoid days Stiles had early classes the morning. The most intense practices - those that involved practical demonstrations and active use of his spark - would be scheduled on days where Stiles could sleep in the morning after.

He browsed the fridge and pulled a bottle of water. It had just some basic things Stiles had remembered to buy, but he actually wish he had a real-size fridge here. And an oven. He could cook, he actually enjoyed doing it, but ovens were against the dorms policy - he had checked. He would have to content himself with whatever food they had at college.

His stomach made a loud rumbling noise and Stiles sighed, remembering that he skipped dinner the previous night. Doing magic - or using his spark, as Morrell would often correct him - made him nauseous afterwards, like his stomach was too full of something unpleasant and heavy. That was how Stiles learned to never eat before a practical training session, or to keep his meal as light as he could, because otherwise whatever he ate would undoubtedly find its way out. He would know; it did happen on several occasions, to his chagrin and Morrell’s utter distaste.

Stiles glanced at the wall, and frowned when he realized there was no clock on there, unlike his kitchen back at home. He grumbled and went back to his room, making a mental note to buy a clock. He couldn’t be punctual to save his life and he needed clocks everywhere if he wanted to achieve something remotely close to being on time. There was a reason why his phone had several different alarms set, and his calendar app was always up and in use.

Taking what he needed, Stiles went to the bathroom for a shower. He thanked all deities for having to share this one with only other three guys and not an entire dorm. Stiles lingered at the door, though, looking at Isaac’s door, wondering if he should knock and ask if he wanted anything, or maybe if they should grab a bite together. Problem was, he was still painfully aware that Isaac was a werewolf - and Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted any closer ties to him, in case he was dangerous. Well, more dangerous than a freaking werewolf normally was. He had made that mistake once, and he fully intended to not go down that path twice. Still, they would live under the same roof for a long time, and maybe not making an effort to forge even a tentative friendship could backfire on Stiles. He fidgeted unsure on what to do, hopping from foot to foot, when the door opened, revealing Isaac.

“What are you doing?” Isaac asked, crossing his arms defensively against his chest and eyeing Stiles suspiciously. “Stop blocking my door,” he added with a caustic tone and a raised eyebrow.

Stiles hated him a little bit. Who even looked this prim and proper first thing in the morning?

“I’m not blocking anything,” Stiles replied petulantly and Isaac just hiked his eyebrow higher. He really didn’t like the guy. “I was wondering if you had breakfast yet, but never mind me. I’m gonna take a shower.”

Isaac looked at Stiles intensely, like he was a puzzle that he couldn’t figure out. Stiles squirmed under the attention, feeling weird and uncomfortable.

“What,” Stiles groused, glaring at Isaac.

Isaac said nothing and only frowned. Stiles was more than ready to ignore him and flee into the bathroom before it got any more awkward, but sadly Isaac spoke before he could close the bathroom door on his face.

“I was going out to grab some, actually. If you’re fast, I might wait for you.”

“I’m not sure I want you to,” Stiles shot back, squinting at him. Seriously, he could feel in his bones that he would hate Isaac. And it wasn’t only related to his furry beast side. The guy was giving Stiles creepy vibes. And Stiles had enough of creepers for a life time.

“You’re the one that invited me,” he pointed out, as if daring Stiles to say otherwise. And, oh boy, Stiles never backed out of a dare.

“You’re the one that told me I was in the way and looked at me like I said I’m going to murder your puppy for breakfast.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and made a face at Stiles. “I’ll wait ten minutes. Be fast. And please, if you do any funny business on the shower, clean it up; I don’t want to step on anything disgusting.”

“I- What- No. Wait, I’ll have you know that nothing that comes from me is disgusting!” Stiles sputtered indignantly, while Isaac hummed and made shooing motions with his hand.

Stiles slammed the bathroom door, but it wasn’t hard enough to drown Isaac’s laughter. He huffed and went on to peel his clothes off, a bit disgusted that he didn’t bother changing into his pajamas the previous night.

He showered quickly, despite his irritation with Isaac, and dressed himself. Stiles considered jerking off out of spite, but then he realized something mortifying: werewolves had heightened senses, and Isaac would probably be able to smell, if not hear, if Stiles masturbated. He squeaked in horror and then groaned. How the hell was he going to rub one off, knowing that Mr. Curls & Scarves could hear any sound he made and, oh god, smell the spunk?

Stiles thumped his head against the cold tiles of the bathroom. He definitely hated Isaac. So much.

He made a point of taking more than the stipulated ten minutes, but when he got out of the bathroom, Isaac was still waiting on the living room. He pointedly ignored Isaac’s knowing look and went to his bedroom. He dumped his dirty clothes over his bed and marched out of his bedroom, cell and wallet in hand.

“You’re an ass,” he said, glaring at Isaac.

Isaac stood up and walked out of their room like Stiles hadn’t said anything at all.

“So are you.”

“You don’t even know me!” Stiles hissed angrily.

“Same applies to me.”

Stiles really didn’t like Isaac.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast was every bit as annoying as Stiles predicted it would be with Isaac for company, except it wasn’t all _that_ bad. Granted, Isaac was sarcastic to the point of making Stiles want to strangle him with his stupid fashionable scarf, but there were worse people to deal with. As it were, Isaac was just a special brand of annoying, one that he could tolerate.

It irked Stiles a little bit, though, that Isaac was nosy. He kept asking questions, and maybe Stiles wouldn’t have noticed he was prying, until he realized that the intense gazing Isaac did was his not at all discreet way to pay attention to Stiles’ heartbeat.

Realizing what Isaac was doing made him paranoid. Why would he care if Stiles was lying or not? What was he trying to accomplish there? Even if most questions seemed mostly small talk, there was something weird in someone trying to catch you lying about innocuous things like what Stiles decided to major in. It felt like Isaac was trying to gauge his trustworthiness or gathering information, and both cases were unsettling.

Still, Stiles let go for the moment. Isaac didn’t seemed particularly threatening, even if he was unnerving and he was volunteering information when asked, even if he was evasive at times. There didn’t seem to be any malicious intent behind Isaac’s actions; just something Stiles couldn’t put his finger on and determine why. Stiles decided he would call his dad and see what he thought about it. He didn’t like to alarm his dad about anything, but he knew better than to not play safe.

After eating, they both went back to their room, and Stiles’ uneasiness abated a bit in face of the bickering about furniture and things that they wanted to put on their room. They both were carrying enough breakfast food to last for the days, even though Isaac was pretty vocal about how disgusting it was. Whatever, Stiles saw how many pancakes he ate and they both knew that all that food would be gone by the next day tops. As soon as they reached their hall, though, they saw massive boxes waiting on the corridor right in front of their room.

“I guess… our other roommate is moving in?” Stiles commented, stretching his neck to see over the stacked boxes.

He wasn’t even sure all that stuff could fit inside their room; it wasn’t like a dorm double room was all that big to begin with. Both Stiles and Isaac shimmied their way inside of the room and found a guy hauling things around. He turned when they entered, giving them a sunny smile.

“Hi!” he said, walking to them. He clapped Isaac on the shoulder, and they both traded smiles with easiness that suggested they weren’t just meeting. “Hey, Isaac! Hale told me you had already moved in, so I decided to move in sooner, too!”

“Yeah, I arrived yesterday,” Isaac said, and there was a faint blushing creeping on his cheeks that Stiles didn’t fail to register. Oh boy, were they _boyfriends_? He should have guessed by the scarf that Isaac was gay. “Did you choose a room yet?”

“No, dude, I was like, waiting for you. I just got here anyway,” the guy answered. Stiles noticed he had a slightly uneven jaw, that made his smile seem even more dorkish.

Isaac’s boyfriend bounced a little on his feet, smiling like an idiot, while Isaac shuffled awkwardly, sporting a smile of his own. Stiles almost groaned out loud, because if they were boyfriends, that would mean sex and he could do without people moaning while he was trying to sleep. When it became clear that the two idiots would just stand there and moon at each other, Stiles coughed pointedly.

“Hi, I’m Stiles, I’m the other roommate,” Stiles said, waving his free hand at the guy. He made a startled face and then grinned sheepishly at Stiles.

Isaac rolled his eyes and made a broad gesture, encompassing both Stiles and Scott.

“Scott, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is Scott. I’m no host, so you both can get to know each other without me,” Isaac said, and Stiles glared at him while Scott laughed, like he wasn’t bothered by his rudeness. “We bought breakfast, Scott. You’re welcome to it.”

He left the bags on the coffee table and disappeared into his bedroom.

“Oh dude, I’m starving. That’s so cool,” Scott said, rubbing his belly before turning to Stiles. “Sorry, dude, Isaac and I are friends. So, your name is Stiles?”

Stiles shrugged and jumped a box to get to the couch, He put his bags, full of delicious pancakes and bacon on the battered coffee table.

“That’s what I go by,” Stiles answered while digging a coffee mug from one of the bags Isaac had brought with him. He sniffed it before humming contently to himself. “My name is far too horrible and most people have a hard time pronouncing it, so I made it simpler.”

Scott nodded and on the floor across Stiles. He pointed at the bags and made what Stiles considered an adorable human version of puppy eyes, and Stiles just gestured for him to go right ahead.

“That’s cool,” Scott said, biting a chunk of one of the pastries. It smelled amazing and Stiles, even though he had just ate, grabbed one for himself. “I once…”

Scott stopped and stared at Stiles. Stiles stared back. He wasn’t sure why he was giving him such an intense look, but it was starting to weird Stiles out. Was it a thing? People staring at Stiles weirdly? Was he in an alternate universe where communication was mainly made by uncomfortable stares? Because he really wanted out of this one.

“Bro…” Scott started, putting the pastry down. Stiles gulped nervously, because really, Scott had a weird intense stare and it was making him uncomfortable.

“Yes?”

“Where are you from?” Scott asked, squinting at Stiles. What was even happening?

He then paused, looking at Scott with suspicion. He thought for a moment, thinking of how Isaac was a werewolf and all the less than subtle inquiry during breakfast. Maybe Scott was a werewolf too. And who knows what kind of rumors were flying about his run in with the Aldaine pack. Maybe they were trying to make sure Stiles was the same person, or maybe they were connected to them somehow. Panic gripped his heart as he thought about it. What were the chances of having a werewolf in the same dorm as he? What if this was all an elaborate set up?

He could feel his breathing getting faster and harder, and he tried his best to get a grip. He patted his pocket, feeling the familiar shape of his phone and stood up.

“Uh, dude, are you okay?” Scott asked and Stiles wondered if his face was betraying his emotions or if Scott could hear his frantic heartbeat.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why do I want to know what?”

“Where I came from?”

Scott frowned at him and inclined his head to the side and it didn’t seem like a puppy thing anymore, it looked like a wolf thing. Stiles backed away slowly, wondering if he could make it to his bedroom. He doubt he could grab his mountain ash stash in time. He vowed to carry a bit with himself from that moment on. _If_ he survived.

“Look, hey, I mean no harm,” Scott said and stood up as well. Stiles must have made it obvious that the gesture was not appreciated, because Scott raised both hands and stepped back, putting distance between them. “You just have the same nickname as a friend I had when I was little, okay? His name was Przemysław, and back then we both lived in Beacon Hills? I mean, and you kinda look like him, or I think you look how he might look like now. Or something. Dude, seriously are you okay?”

Stiles blew out his breath and stopped backing away, because unless this was some insane elaborated plot, this Scott knew his name and hometown. And-

“Wait. Is by chance your last name McCall?” Stiles asked and Scott nodded enthusiastically.

Stiles blinked, because really, what were the chances of meeting Scott McCall, his best friend since pre-K? Stiles was never one to believe in coincidences, and he was half-distrustful and half-awed.

Really, everybody said college was different and all, but that was some new level of weirdness right there.

“And… what does your mom do?” Stiles asked.

Scott seemed a moment away from vibrating out of his skin in excitement. It looked so much like the little boy he befriended when he still lived in Beacon Hills that he almost forgot that this entire situation was tense. He still remembered that the hardest part of moving away from Beacon Hills was leaving behind the only friend his younger self ever had.

Stiles missed Scott so much in the months after, he cried himself to sleep more often than not.

“She was a nurse at Beacon Hill Memorial,” Scott said with a huge smile. He took a tentative step forward and, when Stiles didn’t step back, he gave another. “Still is, actually.”

Stiles remembered Scott’s mom. She used to make awesome peanut butter cookies. He could remember the dark waves of her hair, and the ugly green of her work clothes, but he didn’t remember her face properly. He was only seven when they moved away, and twelve years was a long time.

They both stared at each other for several moments, before Scott exploded in action and rushed into Stiles, grabbing him in a tight hug. He gasped, in utter surprise.

“Oh my God!” He exclaimed, and Stiles barely had time to react, before he was setting him down and shaking him by the shoulders. Stiles was a bit dazed. “Stiles! As in Stiles Stilinski, the boy who peed on my sand castle when we were in pre-K!”

“Hey, I didn’t know that was your sand castle, I thought it was just a bunch of sand!” Stiles groaned, feeling the air tight in his lungs; Scott was strong and he was squeezing Stiles with all he had. “Dude, you’re gonna break my ribs.”

Scott let go and bounced up and down, looking like Christmas had come earlier. Stiles, despite his wariness, smiled back.

“How do you even remember my name, let alone say it?” Stiles asked, feeling dazed and a tad giddy himself.

Scott smiled at him, all teeth and blindingly happiness

“Bro, you made me repeat your name for two days until I got the pronounce correct, there was no way I would ever forget!”

Stiles laughed out loud, doubling over as the memory hit him. They were both kids, and Scott kept mispronouncing Stiles real name. It wasn’t on purpose, as some other kids did, but it hurt Stiles all the same. He made sure Scott knew his name and knew how to say it. It wasn’t long after that that Stiles completely abandoned Przemysław in favor of his nickname.

Stiles, it was a surprise that Scott still remembered that. He looked at his childhood friend with renewed awe and they hugged again, briefly this time, before stepping back

“I missed you a lot. I remember I asked mom if we could send you letters, but she said she didn’t know the address,” Scott confessed, smiling sadly.

Stiles shrugged, not sure what happened. He had asked his parents to keep contact, but he couldn’t remember why they didn’t. Stiles supposed that sending letters to a child on behalf of your kid wasn’t all that high in the list of priorities, not when his mom was wasting away and his dad was overworked and desperate.

“What an emotional reunion. Can you two stop the tear-jerking, so I can grab my coffee before it goes cold?” Isaac said by the door, arms crossed and eyebrow high again. He had ditched his stupid scarf for a fitted cardigan and, huh. Stiles had to admit he was hot, Scott had taste in looks - but definitely not in personality.

Annoying, but hot. Annoyingly hot. Or something.

“Isaac, dude, did you know we, like, we were childhood friends! How awesome is that?”

“I heard,” Isaac said and flopped graciously on the couch, grimacing a bit because the piece of furniture was incredibly uncomfortable. “You two were making a bit of a scene.”

“We were not,” Scott disagreed, making a face. He turned to Stiles, excitement still bubbling. “I’m totally gonna call mom and tell her. I bet she’ll be so surprised. What about your mom and dad? Are they living around here? Mom said you moved down the state, are they still there…?”

Stiles sighed slowly and licked his lips. Talking about his mom always made him feel too small and inadequate. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and scuffed the floor with his sneaker.

“Dad moved back to Beacon Hills last month, actually. He accepted a promotion to be the new Sheriff since the old one retired or something.” Stiles paused and he could almost feel Scott putting two and two together. “Mom died when I was eight.”

Scott made a wounded sound and Stiles refused to look up. He hated the pitying looks; it was so long since that happened. There was no way he could deal with pity, not even coming from Scott. Maybe specially coming from him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Stiles.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” Stiles replied, and there was an uncomfortable silence he needed to break before it drove him insane. “So, you can tell your mom that my dad will be around. We could even go back together on break.”

“Hell yeah! Isaac is also from Beacon Hills, did you know?”

Stiles looked at him, and Isaac shrugged nonchalantly.

“Born and raised at that little hellhole,” Isaac said, sipping on his fancy coffee order, and Scott frowned at him. For the first time ever, Stiles saw Isaac looking apologetic. Huh. Dick whipped, who would have thought?

“Maybe that’s why they put us all together, because we’re all from the same place?” Stiles said and Scott made a guilty face that said that it was not the case.

So it was planned. Anxiety made Stiles hot and cold all over, but he got a grip on his emotions when he saw the worried look Scott threw him. Still, it felt bitter to be proven right; Stiles knew it couldn’t be mere happenstance to be paired up like this. He just didn’t know what their angle was. Yet.

“Yeah, maybe,” He agreed awkwardly and Stiles decided to let it slide for the moment. He would need to sleep with one eye open, but there wasn’t much to do. “Hey, since you two are here, you could help me with my boxes.”

Isaac’s answer was just a sonorous laugh and wiggling more comfortably into the couch.

“I hope you know you’re an ass,” Stiles commented, and then turned to Scott. “I’ll help you.”

Scott smiled brightly and shoved a pastry on his mouth before picking a box up effortlessly.

Stiles licked the roof of his mouth, pensive and followed in a slower pace. When Scott hugged him he had felt exactly the same feeling as Isaac, only much much stronger. So his long lost childhood friend was a werewolf as well. And a powerful one at that.

No coincidences at all.

 

* * *

 

Isaac eventually helped Scott and Stiles, even though Stiles was well aware that they probably could haul all the heavy boxes by themselves without trouble. Still, he went right ahead and helped, and even though he shamelessly avoided the heavier boxes, neither Isaac or Scott said anything about it.

Surprisingly enough, Scott ended up choosing the other bed in Stiles’ room instead of moving into Isaac’s. He didn’t get why, though he was starting to think that maybe they weren’t boyfriends as he first suspected. Still, there was this weird tension between them that Stiles was totally putting down to unresolved sexual tension. It was amusing, seeing how they stared at each other longer than strictly normal for just a couple of friends, or how they touched more often than not. Stiles almost made fun of the fact on more than one occasion, but there was an awkwardness about them that made Stiles think twice. It wasn’t like he was afraid of making fun of them, but it was almost endearing to watch them dancing around each other. He would find a way of asking Scott when the chance presented itself.

Later that day, they took a trip to a Mexican restaurant that Isaac had apparently found when he first arrived on the campus. Stiles had to give it to him: the place was awesome, the food was good, and the prices were okay, which was always a nice plus for Stiles, broke as he was. Isaac was still insufferable, but Scott acted as an amazing buffer between Stiles and Isaac. Things were easier. Mostly because Stiles and Scott hit it off right away, like they never spent twelve years apart at all. Scott was as easygoing as Stiles remembered him being as a kid, and apparently Stiles’ heavy sarcasm was deeply appreciated by him (though if Isaac’s face was anything to go by, he was less than amused by them).

They were catching up when Isaac interrupted Stiles and Scott reminiscing about their third grade teacher.

“So,” Isaac said pointedly, licking the salt from his margarita glass. If Stiles didn’t know werewolves don’t get drunk, he would have suggested him to slow down; it was his third one. “What exactly are you?”

Stiles froze, nacho halfway in his mouth. He looked at Isaac intently and he couldn’t help but to feel trapped. He should have expected something like that, but he was lulled to a false sense of security by Scott’s ‘amiability.

“What do you mean?” Scott asked, looking from Isaac to Stiles in genuine confusion.

Stiles didn’t buy it, not completely, but by the way Isaac was looking slightly off, he supposed that wasn’t some rehearsed move to take him out of the house and do god knows what.

Isaac leaned forward, voice pitched lower, so only they could hear.

“You know, don’t you?” Isaac accused, looking annoyed. “I know you know, because when you touched me, I felt something. And you acted weird after, so you obviously know. I just don’t understand why you’re pretending not to.”

Stiles didn’t say anything - what was he supposed to say anyway? He just waited, trying to read his cues from the situation. Scott was now looking at him, though he wasn’t distrustful, he did look considering. Stiles supposed he was probably replaying their hug, the physical contact they shared hours before and trying to remember something different about it. He could pinpoint the moment it dawned on Scott, the faint feel of an electric current on his skin. That was what non-humans felt when they touched Stiles; a faint echo of the telluric currents connected to Stiles, running on the ground below them.

“Stiles?” Scott said and it was a question and a demand rolled in only one word.

Objectively, Stiles knew he couldn’t really escape. The thing about werewolves - or other non-human entities - that scared Stiles was how easily they could pin him and force him to do anything against his will. He knew it first thing, had felt it with Bain, and he had yet to shake the feeling of powerlessness away. He had ways of protecting himself, but that wasn’t the case there. One day he would be able to fight better, to protect himself appropriately, but there was nothing Stiles could do in that moment.

 _Fool_ , he heard Bain’s voice taunting him in his mind.

It would be so easy to give in into the panic scratching the back of his throat. He could almost taste the metallic taste of his own blood on his mouth, hear the growls of the werewolves. He knew they weren’t there in that moment, but the memories were fresh and terrifying still.

Stiles slowly traced the shape of his teeth with his tongue, before blowing out some air. He could have tried to evade this, giving some ambiguous answer that won’t bleep on their freaking werewolf senses, but he decided to make a leap of faith. Scott was staring at Stiles with such openness that maybe, just maybe, it won’t end with blood and claws.

“I’m an emissary,” Stiles said slowly, and Isaac’s eyebrows rose up, while Scott’s go down.

There was silence and then Scott and Isaac were trading looks. They both looked at Stiles again, with analyzing looks that seemed the same. The silence went on uncomfortably until it felt like a rubber band being stretched too thin, almost to the point of snapping.

“What pack do you work for?” Scott asked at last.

“We should call Hale,” Isaac said at the same time, looking extremely uneasy. He his both hands under the table, eyes trained on Stiles. It was a deliberated move, one that Stiles saw right through. He was ready to spring on Stiles if needed be, there was a good chance his claws were out already even. The knowledge made cold sweat coat his skin and trail down his skin, pooling at the end of his back

“None,” Stiles said, hands moving listless over the table. “I’m an emissary in training. I belong to no pack.”

The “ _yet_ ” hanged there.

Scott visibly deflated, letting some of the tenseness seep from his shoulders. Isaac’s posture seemed to bleed into something more genuine and less threatening. Stiles, though, kept himself right on the edge. Not having a pack was no sign of being safe, not for him.

“Oh man,” Scott laughed, rubbing the back of his head and offering Stiles a crooked smile that Stiles didn’t reciprocate, “for a moment I thought there was some pack wanting to move into our territory or something.”

“Happened before,” Isaac said haughtily. “Pack skirmishes are…”

“Bloody. I know.” Stiles completed and Isaac eyed him curiously. He saw the question forming behind his lips and Stiles plunged on, before he had the chance of actually saying anything.

“I didn’t know I was an emissary; I found out around a year ago.” Stiles offered, “I was training with some emissary back in Sacramento, but since I had to move here for college, I had to find someone else to take over my studies.”

Scott nodded and Isaac was tapping a random rhythm on the top of the table. Stiles couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to piece together a puzzle and it made him want to strangle Isaac with one of his stupid scarves.

“Who are you training with?” Isaac asked and Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure this an information I should share,” he answered and the look on Scott’s face was precious. He looked so genuinely appalled that Stiles would think that he could be dangerous to anyone. It made a cruel laugh form on Stiles’ chest, wanting out. He bottled it up, though.

“Dude, what do you think we would do to an emissary?” Scott asked, leaning on the table and trying to convey his good intentions with his earnest face.

Honestly, Scott was borderline adorable and Stiles felt a stupid wave of affection for him. Which was probably dangerous seeing as he was apparently powerful. _Maybe even an alpha,_ Stiles thought and a bit of dread running through him. He was less than fond of alphas in general.

“Let’s make a deal. Tell me a bit about you guys and I’ll tell a bit about myself. An eye for an eye type of deal, except instead of literal eyeballs, we’ll be trading information. How’s that sound?”

Isaac scoffed, completely unimpressed.

“We could probably force the information out of you,” he offered with a fake smile 

“Isaac. No,” Scott growled. Literally growled, glaring at Isaac, who just pouted in return. He then offered Stiles an apologetic smile. “Dude, fair enough. Wanna start?”

“We should take some back to the dorm and end this talk there.” Isaac said, throwing some bills on the table and standing up.

Stiles sighed and followed the motion.

 

* * *

 

 

Even though Scott and Isaac were werewolves, and therefore immune to the sweet enchantment of alcohol, they actually enjoyed drinking, maybe even more than Stiles did. So after they left the Mexican restaurant, they bought enough booze to put any human being in alcoholic coma and headed to their dorm.

After all, wasn’t college life made of booze, parties and stressing over finals? Even though in Stiles’ case, it was also made of occult training in handling creatures that go bump in the night.

Stiles was a bit wary of getting drunk around two werewolves, but Scott was as non-threatening as anyone could ever be, and while Stiles didn’t like Isaac all that much, he didn’t seem dangerous. A bit skittish and extremely annoying, yes, but his evil radar wasn’t bleeping. And at any rate, Stiles had some tentative faith on Scott, enough to trust him to keep him in one piece.

If Stiles were completely honest with himself - and the thing was, he usually wasn’t - getting buzzed was probably the easiest way of dealing with his increasing anxiety over being around werewolves, trustworthy ones or not. The mere possibility over what they could do was enough to set Stiles’ heart on a frenzied beating. The alcohol soothed him enough to make him calm down and enjoy their company, without looking at the door each five minutes.

That and the text sent to his father, summarizing his situation. His dad had answered promptly, telling Stiles to keep in touch hourly and keep some mountain ash on himself. Which Stiles did, he had a packet of mountain ash on his pocket, enough to make a protective barrier around himself if needed be. And, well, if Scott had maybe realized both things, he didn’t call Stiles on it - in fact, only offered a small smile of encouragement, like silently telling Stiles it was okay to be safe.

“Okay,” Stiles started after finishing his second beer. He had too many questions, and at the same time, none at all. If he could get away from sharing anything, he would gladly take it. As it was, he would rather have something in return. “Are you an alpha?”

Scott squeaked in surprise before frowning at Isaac, who promptly shook his head in denial to the silent accusation of having telling Stiles. Scott blinked few times, before his eyebrows hiked up in open amazement.

“Bro, how did you know?” Scott asked a moment, gaping at Stiles,

Stiles shrugged, feeling a bit proud of himself for making Scott impressed.

“I didn’t, not really. It was an educated guess.”

“But, _how_?” Scott asked again, looking completely baffled.

Stiles smirked and tapped his can rhythmically with his fingers.

“Is that your question back?”

“Yes,” Scott exclaimed.

“No,” Isaac interjected.

They looked at each other again and Isaac huffed angrily before making a gesture for Stiles to go on.

“The same way I knew you were both werewolves. When I touch you I feel this… electric current, of sorts. You both felt it, I think. It’s my spark reacting to you. I don’t know exactly why it happens, but it’s like being a spark is connected with werewolves or something. With time, I’ll be able to identify werewolves without touching, and also cover the electric feedback. But for now… When I touch a wolf, sparks fly, so to speak.”

“Dude...” Scott muttered reverently. “You’re magical.”

Stiles’ laughter ringed loud and clear, a bubble of unexpected amusement breaking through the tension. He snorted loudly, taking a few breaths, before calming down enough to talk. He was pleased to notice that Scott had followed him in his fit of laughter and so had Isaac, even if in a more subdued way.

“I’m a spark, I’m not really magical. I can’t… I can’t go Harry Potter on things, you know? But yeah, I can do some neat stuff,” he explained while Scott nodded, enthralled at it all. “My turn now, correct?”

Scott nodded, smiling a bit, while Isaac grumbled something about stupid deals. He then jumped a bit on his seat, glaring angrily at Scott and Stiles suspected Isaac had been kicked in the sheens to fast for Stiles to see. It should be scary, that open demonstration of werewolf speed, but it was actually hilarious

“How did you become a wolf, Scott?” He maybe should’ve asked that another time, but he was sure that Scott would tell him anyway. He might as well use the opportunity. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t one when we were kids.”

Scott wrinkled his nose, before letting out a deep sigh. He slouched on their couch so much, he was almost sliding onto the floor.

“I was bitten few years ago,” Scott told in a subdued voice, while Isaac was sitting way too straight, too tense. He looked uncomfortable, and Stiles wondered about him as well. “Freshman year, a rogue alpha caught me when I was getting out of my job - I worked at a vet clinic with Deaton. Got turned then.”

“Wow… He forced you into his pack?” Stiles asked, openly horrified by the notion.

Scott shook his head. When he spoke, his tone was clipped, as if he was still dealing with some degree of anger over what happened. Stiles couldn’t blame him for that.

“Nah. He bit and fled.”

Stiles winced, imagining how difficult that probably had been. He had his own sudden first encounter with the supernatural world to know that it was hard to deal with. He couldn’t even imagine being turned like that, without any support or guidance. It was a miracle that Scott had managed to keep himself sane and alive.

“Crap… And what happened to the rogue alpha? Was he found later?”

“Got put down eventually,” Scott answered, not even calling Stiles on his question being out of turn. “It’s a long story, dude.”

“Hey, sorry for asking. You don’t have to tell me or anything,” Stiles tried to apologize but Scott was already shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.

“It’s not that. It’s just honestly a long story and not all of it is mine to tell,” Scott explained, glancing at Isaac and Stiles couldn’t help but feel his curiosity hiking up. “I can tell it some other time, seriously.”

Nodding, Stiles reached for his beer and took another swig. There were more questions piling up in his mind, and he opened his mouth to voice them, before Isaac cleared his throat pointedly.

“I guess it’s our turn now,” he interjected and Stiles rolled his eyes at him.

“Shoot away, dude. You’ve been dying to ask me stuff. Make it count.”

“Who are you training with?” Isaac asked without preamble and Stiles scowled at him. Really, he was so rude.

“A guy named Alan Deaton,” Stiles answered begrudgingly, but, to his utter surprise, both werewolves’ faces lit up in recognizement.

“Deaton? _You_ ’re Deaton’s apprentice?” Isaac’s tone betrayed his disbelief.

“You know Deaton?”

“Hell yeah, he’s our emissary,” Scott beamed and Stiles gaped, because really. Too many coincidences.

Stiles didn’t believe in coincidences. At all.

“He’s your emissary?”

“Yeah, I mean, not mine _mine_ ,” Scott said, smiling sideways. “He’s actually Hale pack’s emissary. But since I’m uuuh alpha or something, he’s kinda my emissary too?”

Stiles blinked because little of what Scott said made any sense to him. Scott seemed to pick his confusion, because he just chuckled, before finally sliding all the way to the floor and nudging him with his foot. Stiles nudged right back.

“It’s… A bit of a mess. Wanna hear the story?”

Of course Stiles wanted to.

Scott told him his tale and it was long enough that by the end, Stiles had finished another beer and Scott was shirtless and sprawled at the floor, while Isaac had lost his scarf and his hair looked for once like it wasn’t perfectly styled.

It made Stiles ache to know what his once best friend had gone through: a rogue alpha had bitten him and ran. Alone, Scott was taken in as a beta into the Hale pack back in Beacon Hills and all was well, until they found the rogue alpha. Scott got the chance of killing him, thinking that it would revert him back into human, but that wasn’t what happened. Rising to alpha was hard and painful for Scott, because his control over his wolf was still so fragile, but mostly because he didn’t want to be a werewolf to start with. But with his pack, he managed to keep in control.

“Damn, Scott, I’m sorry you had to go through this,” Stiles said, slurring a little bit.

“Yeah, I mean, it was awful in the beginning, y’know?” Scott shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a werewolf, I just wanted to play lacrosse and date this girl. But it all changed overnight, and it was insane.”

Stiles nodded and looked at the scuffled floor. He got it. He knew how it felt to have your life changed because of supernatural drama. He never thought he had a spark, that he could do things other humans couldn’t. Hell, he never even imagined werewolves were real, until Bain waltzed into his life and made everything so hard. Up until that point, the hardest thing Stiles had had to deal with was figuring out his sexuality and eventually with school bullies. Then the game changed and became way more dangerous. Life threatening dangerous.

“Well, at least you had you pack,” Stiles said, nodding slowly. “Is Isaac your beta?”

They looked at each other and even in his drunken state he could see naked interest on Isaac’s part and maybe unacknowledged desire on Scott’s. They broke the stare, Scott looking away first, before sitting up.

“No, I didn’t turn Isaac. I didn’t turn anyone.”

Stiles frowned at Scott’s tone. He said it forcefully, as if trying to dispel the “yet” hanging unsaid after his words. Stiles decided he wasn’t going to address that, at least not there.

“Huh, so you have no betas?”

Scott shook his head, looking weirdly uncomfortable. Stiles couldn’t imagine Scott being an alpha, sharing a pack, and not having some sort of control over the betas, even if he didn’t turn them. Instinct was a strong force with werewolves, even more dominant around alphas. There was something there, some shifting dynamic Stiles could almost see. He wondered if being able to sense that was part of his emissary powers or merely good observation skills. Stiles turned to Isaac.

“Who’s your alpha then?”

Isaac shrugged nonchalantly.

“No one you know.” Turning to Scott, he commented in light tone, “By the way, Boyd called me earlier today.”

Scott perked at that, smiling broadly.

“Yeah, what did he say?”

“He’s gonna move in tomorrow afternoon. I’ve no idea how they managed to put all of us in the same room, but I’m not about to complain.”

Scott nodded, taking a swig of his beer and smacking his lips.

“Yeah, man. I mean, I think it’ll be good, y’know? Pack has to stay together and it’s bad enough that we can’t house with the girls.”

Stiles looked from one to another in confusion. So they apparently knew the other person who was going to share their room?

“Who’s Boyd? And what girls?”

Scott bounced excitedly before kneeling on the floor, gesturing wildly. If Stiles didn’t know better, he would think he was drunk.

“Oh man, Boyd is another beta, part of the pack. He’s gonna room with us too. And crap, Stiles, the girls-”

“Oh here we go,” Isaac interrupted, sounding slightly cross.

“-There’s Lydia, she’s, well, she’s _something_ and there’s Allison. Bro... Allison is perfect, you’re going to love her,” Scott laughed and winked, “Not too much, I hope though.”

“Oookay…” Stiles said slowly, filling away Isaac’s reaction and laughing a bit at how starstruck Scott sounded. Apparently this Allison girl had Scott’s adoration.

He glanced at Isaac and he looked… Well. Stricken. _Huh_ , Stiles thought, while Isaac struggled to arrange his features in a more neutral expression. Huh.

“She’s human, by the way. Allison, that is. There’s Erica and Cora too,” Scott added after a moment, “They are wolves like us. Betas.”

Stiles nodded, thinking. It was a small pack and not all pack mates were wolves, but that wasn’t all that uncommon; it just wasn’t a favored structure outside family packs. It sounded like that pack was a bit of a patchwork, and for some reason, it felt attractive to Stiles. He wondered what brought them together, and how they functioned. He wanted to ask, but he knew it wasn’t really something he could get an objective answer about. There were probably stories on how they were brought together, how the betas became pack and all that, but Stiles knew better than to ask. Those were private and maybe, if he got lucky, he would get to hear them with time.

Thinking back on how the Aldaine pack worked, he could feel that the Hale pack – or would Hale-McCall pack more accurate? – was completely different. Not even once had Stiles seen Scott treating Isaac as someone beneath him and, even if Isaac wasn’t officially his beta, there was a dynamic going between them. It made Stiles’ distrust go down another notch. He knew that not all packs were made by power tripping assholes with no regards for humans, but it was something else seeing it. 

Scott beamed at Stiles, and reached out to punch him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey dude, I’m glad we met here.”

“Yeah… Yeah, me too.”

* * *

 

The next day brought Boyd, as Isaac had said it would. Vernon Boyd, was his name, and he was another beta werewolf. Stiles was at first thoroughly intimidated by the sheer size and stoic features, but it only took setting up his Xbox and Playstation on the living room for the ice to be broken. Boyd was a man of few words, all of them well-timed and witty, and Stiles couldn’t help but want to be Boyd’s friend. By the end of the week, there was probably the beginning of a tentative, though solid, friendship brewing and, by the way Scott looked pleased, it would be fine.

Stiles got to orientation a couple of days before his classes were to start. He had already chosen what classes he wanted to do, but he hadn’t gotten around to go into orientation yet. Which ended up being fortunate, as Deaton and Scott’s pack made Stiles feel like a few adjustments were necessary. Satisfied with all classes he was enrolled in, Stiles sent an email to Deaton with his schedule for the semester, only to receive a reply informing Stiles that they would have a training session that very day.

“Your emissary is ruthless and mean,” Stiles complained, when he finished reading the email on his phone.

He was sprawled on the couch, watching Boyd playing The Last of Us, while Scott took a nap on the floor. Isaac had disappeared for the day, announcing he was going to explore the college campus and hadn’t be seen since morning, though Stiles knew he was texting Scott regularly.

Scott blinked one eye open, while Boyd only grunted in reply.

“What did he do?” Scott said around a yawn, stretching like a cat, before rolling on his belly.

“He says I have to go have a training session today. I wasn’t ready to do anything today. I fully intended to eat all the junk food I could possibly fit in my belly and watch Boyd fuck up playing the game.”

“I’m not fucking up, I have more trophies than you do,” Boyd almost growled, smashing the buttons as he made Joel run from a Bloater in the game.

“Yeah, homie, but I’m still a better player than you are, and if you got more trophies than I do, it’s because you cheat.”

Stiles jumped out of the couch as Boyd slapped his knee with a hand, while still somehow evading the Bloater. Damn werewolves, Stiles needed both hands and a good deal of attention and luck to get away from one of those blasted things.

“I don’t cheat, Stilinski. I’m better.”

Stiles gave him the tongue and walked to his bedroom. He was feeling lazy and content, and working his ass off in a training session wasn’t even close his top ten activities for his evening. He quickly changed his clothes, picked up his backpack, putting everything he would need for the night and went back to the room. Boyd had apparently managed to kill the Bloater without dying and Stiles hated him a little bit for that.

Stiles hiked his backpack higher and went to nudge Scott with his foot. Scott held it before it made contact.

“I’m gonna go suffer through Deaton’s training.”

“Yeah? You want me to come with you?” Scott asked, tugging at Stiles’ shoelaces, trying to undo them.

Stiles shook his head and pulled his foot free, stumbling back ungracefully. Boyd laughed at him, without turning his head from the screen. Freak, he was. Why did Stiles even like him at all?

“Nah, dude. It’s going to take forever. It’s boring.” He then paused, because something occurred to him. “You don’t happen to have a car, do you?”

Scott made a mournful sound on the back of his throat and Boyd actually cackled evilly.

“Mean, Boyd, mean,” Scott said, before, turning to Stiles with puppy eyes. “I used to have a bike, but she’s gone.”

“She’s gone,” Stiles deadpanned, looking at Scott blankly.

Scott whined, and Stiles didn’t even try to keep a straight face. He just flat out laughed and Boyd followed him on it, making Scott pout.

“Dude, don’t laugh at my pain, okay? My baby was my love and pride.”

“That piece of junk was so old it fell apart on its own. It died a natural death,” Boyd scoffed, finally pausing the game and turning to them.

Gaping, Scott pointed a finger at Boyd, opening and closing his mouth soundless, before making an indignant sound.

“Dude, watch your mouth while talking about Esperanza!”

At that, Stiles lost his cool and laughed so hard his backpack slipped from his shoulder and fell on the floor. Luckily, there was nothing breakable inside of it, or it would have been a mess. He laughed so hard he ended up halfway to the floor, holding his belly in pain, gulping for air between fits of laughter.

“You named your bike _Esperanza_?” Stiles asked, drying his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I did,” Scott confirmed, head held up high and looking proud

Stiles laughed at that and patted Scott on the top of his head. Scott snapped his teeth playfully at Stiles and grinned.

“It’s okay, bro, I understand. In high school I had Spock, a blue Jeep that belonged to mom.”

Spock was a valiant little thing, old and battered, blue paint starting to fade and chip at parts, but it used to be Stiles’ pride and joy. It had been his car ever since he learned how to drive; in fact, he learned how to drive so he could drive that piece of junk. He loved it though, because it belonged to his mom, and Stiles could still pretend to smell her at times. The glove compartment still held few papers, innocuous things like receipts and grocery lists his mom had long left there. There was still a bottle of way expired hand moisturizer Stiles never got around to throwing away.

His smile died down when he remembered that Spock had been totalled when he was trying to escape the Aldaine pack.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles forcibly shook himself out of that train of thought. He couldn’t afford to think of his mom or Aldaine pack, not when he had to be in control and relaxed for the training.

“Yeah, anyway, I was going to ask for a ride after, because I always come out of training sessions feeling wiped, but I guess I can walk.”

Scott stood up, maybe sensing Stiles’ sudden uneasiness and looked at him with worry. Stiles looked away from Scott’s gaze, only to find Boyd with a similar, if not more subtle, expression on his face.

“Dude, I can go with you,” Scott offered again.

“Or if you want to avoid Scott being annoying,” Boyd interjected, smirking when Scott yelped in outrage, “I can come with you. I want to buy some snacks, anyway. Someone ate all my Snickers.”

“Isaac, that inconsiderate Snicker-eater,” Stiles quickly said and, even though he knew both werewolves could hear the lie, he kept a straight face.

Scott burst into laughter, while Boyd only stared, though Stiles could see a little smile on the corner of his mouth. Stiles picked his backpack up again and patted it, before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Well, gentlemen, thank you for the kind offers to escort me to my unavoidable fate, but I gotta get going. Deaton doesn’t strike me as the type to tolerate lateness and I would rather not get held past my bed time because of that,” Stiles babbled, backing to the door. He could see that his ploy to distracted Boyd and Scott with as much words possible hadn’t worked as expected, but at least they weren’t moving to go with him.

“Call me when you’re leaving,” Boyd picked up the controller and unpaused his game. He was staring back at the screen, seeming uncaring. “We can meet so you can buy me back the Snickers you ate.”

“Lies!”

“Keep denying and I’m eating all of your stashed Reese’s without remorse.”

Stiles gasped in shock - how did even Boyd know about his stash? Damn werewolves and their noses! He was ready to make treats on the behalf of his Reeses’ safety, when Boyd made a dismissive motion with his hand.

“Go. Deaton’s waiting for you.”

Stiles left the dorm with the sound of Scott’s laughter in his ears.

 

* * *

 

 

The vet clinic had apparently just closed for the day when Stiles got there. The closed sign was on the door again, but the lights were off this time. He tried to the door out of curiosity, and it opened with the soft jingle of the doorbells.

“Hello?” Stiles called, unsure of himself. Maybe he should have waited outside, but he couldn’t resist the chance of exploring.

On the inside, there was again no receptionist, and Stiles hesitated. It wasn’t pitch black, there was light coming from the back room, but it was weirdly unnerving. The animals inside the clinic seemed agitated, if the noises coming from the cages were anything to go by. For a moment, Stiles thought about running, but before he could, a shadow befell the entryway.

He stumbled back, screaming bloody murder, and hit the door in the process. Stiles yelped at the pain of the doorknob digging at his back, but he somehow managed not to fall down on the floor. The shadow at the entryway hadn’t moved, but Stiles wasn’t taking any chances. The attacker - possible attacker, was huge and bulked and very obviously able to snap Stiles in two, even if all he could perceive in the dark, was the soft silhouette of the person. And it was more than enough, in Stiles’ opinion. He was fumbling for the door handle, when the lights went on. He blinked repeatedly, temporarily blinded by the sudden white luminosity and wondered if his attacker was using his distraction to have him killed.

But then, nothing happened and when his eyes adjusted to the light, and what he saw left him gaping.

There was a guy staring at him, with probably the most impressive set of eyebrows that Stiles had ever had the chance of admiring this close. He had a scruff that seemed artistically taken care off and a face that seemed to suited better for runways or porn than in a veterinarian clinic. Stiles stared unabashedly, because if he was going to be ripped to shreds - and by the way the guy was looking at him with those eyebrows set in an angry scowl, that seemed the case - he could as well go to heaven with a beautiful view as the last thing he saw while still breathing.

For the first time in his life, Stiles didn’t need to touch to feel that someone was a werewolf. He felt it in his bones, deep in his chest, on his veins. It was a rush of power, a sudden awareness he never experienced before, not even when faced with the alpha from the Aldaine pack. Stiles straightened up and breathed in, filling up his lungs until they felt too full. The guy - werewolf - seemed to track the movement of his chest without really tearing his eyes from Stiles’ face.

He let the air out slowly, and the werewolf finally showed some sign of movement. His head bobbed up and down, in a jerky movement, clearly scenting the air. Stiles smiled despite the danger of the situation. It was such a canine thing to do, Stiles almost felt like pointing that out, but he knew better than to engage an unknown werewolf like that. He was reckless, but not stupid. Well. That much, at least.

The guy opened his mouth and Stiles blinked into attention, but whatever he was going to say got lost when Deaton appeared at the guy’s back. Mr. Angry Eyebrow immediately stepped aside, eyes never leaving Stiles, and Deaton walked into the reception area.

“Stiles. You’re earlier than I expected,” Deaton said with a slightly amused tone. Stiles had no idea what was even amused in that situation.

“Well, you told me to come. I came,” Stiles said defensively. He eyed the guy again, and he was still staring back. Did he even blink? It didn’t feel like he was blinking.

“Yes, but I imagined you would take a bit longer. If I had known, I would have left the lights on,” Deaton said, and Stiles wasn’t sure if that was an apology or if Deaton was subtly calling him out for entering without permission. He decided to magnanimously ignore either way.

“Yeah, well. Anyway. Here I am,” Stiles awkwardly gesture to himself and Deaton gave him a dry look.

“I can see. There was a reason why I decided to schedule this training today; I wanted to introduce you to someone,” Deaton said, and Mr. Chiseled Jawline stepped forward. Stiles noticed that he was wearing a Henley that fit him incredibly well. “This is Derek Hale. He’s the alpha of the Hale Pack. I believe you met part of his pack already.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at that, because he was sure he hadn’t mentioned his roommates to Deaton in any of their brief exchanges. His wariness must have showed on his face, because Deaton soon amended.

“Scott mentioned you. So did Isaac,” Deaton turned to Mr. Tight Henley - Hale, that was, “That the apprentice I talked about. Przemysław “Stiles” Stilinski.”

“Call me Stiles, though, for god’s sake. No one calls me by my name except maybe my babcia back in Poland when she sends us a letter once a month.”

Hale nothing said for a moment or two, before stepping forward. He didn’t get close enough for Stiles to feel threatened, but his presence was weirdly imposing and it was making Stiles nervous.

Or maybe that was how stupidly hot the guy was. Or even the fact that he was an alpha - the alpha for Isaac and Boyd, the one Scott mentioned.

“‘Sup,” Stiles gave a little wave, acting more confident than he was feeling.

Hale seemed to hesitate for a moment, before nodding.

“Scott talked about you. Incessantly, as it was.” His voice, Stiles noticed in open surprise, was softer than he imagined it to be. Stiles fully expected it to be rough and growly, imposing and terrifying like Hale looked when scowling, but no. It was deep and soft and it made something hot curl at the base of Stiles’ spine.

“Aw, good to know my love for him is reciprocated,” Stiles joked. Hale just raised an unimpressed eyebrow and Stiles wondered if the eyebrow thing was a Hale Pack thing, because it was exactly what Isaac did. Only more impressive. “Well, anyway. Stiles is introduced. I mean, you introduced us. As in now we know each other. Or each others’ names.”

If there was a look as dry as the Sahaara, that look was the one Hale was giving Stiles.

“Yes, Stiles,” Deaton said with a good measure of impatience. “Hale wanted to meet you because I’m the emissary for his pack, as you probably know. It’s his responsibility to make sure you aren’t a threat for his pack’s safety.”

Stiles scoffed at that. Yeah, right, because Stiles was the epitome of threatening individual with his 140 pounds of unadulterated sarcasm.

“Big bad wolf is afraid of puny, fragile human? Wow, okay then.”

Hale gave him such a glare that Stiles actually had to suppress a shiver. If his fear was tinged with some other emotion, well, that was for Stiles alone to know.

“Yes, I stand corrected. There’s no way someone like _you_ could be of any danger,” Hale sneered at Stiles and his blood boiled.

“Give me some mountain ash and let’s see if you can say that again,” Stiles challenged with more bravado than actually will to engage Hale in a fight. In fact, he wanted the exact opposite.

Hale’s eyes glinted red and he feinted forward, so fast he was a blur and Stiles jerked back, stumbling on his own feet and almost falling down. Hale snorted, looking at Stiles with open contempt.

“ _You_ tell me that again when you’re not pissing yourself in fear.”

Stiles was ready to reply in a very colorful way, when Deaton cleared his throat and glanced at Hale pointedly. Hale only grumbled something, too low for Stiles to hear, and backed away, crossing his arms against his chest defensively. Stiles felt a small satisfaction at seeing the o’ mighty alpha being chastised like that.

“Gentlemen, I would like to go home some time this evening, so the faster we get through this, the better.” Deaton turned and left to the other room, leaving Hale and Stiles watching each other warily.

When it became clear that Stiles didn’t intend to move a muscle, Hale rolled his eyes and followed Deaton, practically strutting away - and damn, what a back view... Stiles shook his head, and went after the other two in a more sedated pace. He wasn’t about to turn his back to his supreme Alpha Jerkiness if he could help it - especially now that he knew what a fantastic view that would give him.

Hale could be an ass, but he also had amazing ass. Stiles snickered at his own pun, earning a puzzled look from both Deaton and Hale once he came inside the room as well.

“Are you sure he isn’t mentally damaged, or something?” Hale groused, and Stiles resisted the impulse of showing him the middle finger. He settled for placing his backpack on the ground and taking off hoodied and then his blue and red plaid, standing in the room only with a navy graphic tee he was wearing under it all. One thing he learned pretty quickly was that using his spark made him sweat - or tremble in abject cold, if he went too far. And Stiles would rather not walk home dripping in sweat.

“Stiles is a very talented emissary, Hale. Or will be, if I can train him properly.”

“By all means, don’t mind me.”

Stiles looked up at that, from where he was folding - or better yet, just messily rolling his clothes - into a pile.

“What? Is he going to stay here?” Stiles asked almost angrily. He didn’t want to train with that guy staring at him.

Deaton looked heavenward, like he was absolutely done already with them both. Stiles tampered down his petty satisfaction at that. If he was going to be uncomfortable, so would everybody else.

“Hale asked me to watch your training tonight. I didn’t think that would be a problem with you.”

Stiles sputtered indignantly, gesturing wildly in Hale’s general direction before he found the words he wanted to say.

“Hell yeah, I have a problem with him standing there like a breathing Greek statue, glaring at me with these these freaking caterpillars he has for eyebrows.”

“Really? That’s the best you got?” Hale asked completely unimpressed and Stiles sputtered.

“No. I just don’t feel like bringing my A game against you,” Stiles said lamely and winced at his lack of cool. Hale seemed to agree that it was rather ridiculous, because his eyebrows were judging him in contempt. The guy had judging eyebrows. Who even has judging eyebrows? “Now leave.”

Hale just rested against the opposite wall, recrossing his arms. The position made his biceps something to be reckoned with, and Stiles couldn’t help but stare. Still, while he appreciate the aesthetics of, well, everything Hale, he thought the guy was a special brand of jerk, just like Isaac. Worst, even, if he got it right.

“Why do you want to watch my training?” Stiles asked, veering the talk from his lack of sass.

“You’re living with half of my pack. I feel like I should judge for myself what you’re made of,” Hale answered easily and directly and Stiles wasn’t expecting that. He thought he would give some sassy reply or maybe skirt around the truth, but he seemed genuinely only there for that.

Deaton looked at the ceiling again, this time obviously muttering a prayer for patience. It was indeed promising to be a long, long night.

“Whatever,” Stiles muttered, and turned to look at Deaton, obviously ignoring Hale’s presence.

* * *

 

By the time Deaton was finished with Stiles, it was well past two in the morning and Stiles’ body felt like it was made of lead. He ached all over, and his fingertips seemed to be perpetually cold. He knew what that meant: cold means overdoing, pushing himself way past his limits. It had happened once before, while training with Morrell and Stiles quickly learned to never push his limits to the point of that happening. The cold was a warning, one that meant that Stiles was nearing irreversible damage or even death.

He groaned when Deaton finally dismissed him, and dressed himself up, sighing in relief at the warmth the hooding and plaid shirt were providing. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t help in anything with his near exhaustion, but it was better than the chilling coursing through him.

The training session had been nothing short of brutal; Deaton had lead Hale and him to a covered area in the back of the animal clinic that Stiles wasn’t aware he had. It seemed to be an storage unit once upon a time, and some empty cages and small containers were visible, but it was mostly empty, perfect for training. Deaton then asked Stiles to make barriers again and again, until his lines were perfect and he could stretch the mountain ash he had in hand for way longer than it should last. Stiles made barriers around himself, perfect unbroken circles of mountain ash, just enough to keep him safe, and Deaton made him train until the circle was round and small enough just to had Stiles standing on it, then big enough for Stiles to stretch and lie down on it, if needed. It was an exhausting exercise, one that was pretty much made of Stiles belief and will. And that alone was tiring. _Believing_ to ignite his spark hard enough and even if he had practice, doing that several times in a row, in increasingly harder setups was close to hell.

They then moved into testing Stiles barriers, with Hale’s help. He would force then,test their resistance and, to Stiles’ horror, he did manage to break the barrier a couple of times. Deaton frowned, told Stiles to _focus_ and they kept training. Stiles made barriers, Hale tried to break them, Deaton made crypt critics about Stiles’ mind.

By the second hour of training, Stiles was already throwing the towel. Funnily enough, that was when Deaton appeared satisfied. Apparently, when Stiles was tired and done, it was when his barriers snapped into place better.

“ _Typical”_ , Hale had muttered loud enough for Stiles to hear, and Stiles decided to got back at him by forming a line of mountain ash right in front of Hale when he was walking back into his place, making him bounce face first in the invisible barrier.

“ _Oops_ ,” Stiles had muttered sweetly, giving Hale his best shiteating grin. He could see the faint ring of red on his eyes, and the way his nostrils had flared like a bull ready to charge, but Hale didn’t and Stiles felt vindicated.

If Stiles was fully honest to himself, it was things like that that had had put him in serious trouble in the past - his inability of keeping himself in line and knowing not to provoke people that could literally disembowel him with one hand. But restraint wasn’t a quality he ever possessed and he wasn’t about to grow it now.

The training then moved to Stiles attuning himself with the telluric currents on the earth, filling how they flow and using them as an extra battery for Stiles’ spark. It was probably the most hated part of the training for Stiles. His affinity with the telluric currents was unstable at best and downright terrible most of the time. Stiles still had a hard time controlling the intensity of his connection, so he either ended feeling nothing at all, or getting so connected, he would ended up straining his body to contain the power. At one of his tries, after hearing Deaton continuously berate him for his lack of focus, Stiles went so deep, he got thrown back in the air by the release of raw energy. He would probably have cracked his skull on the floor, if Hale hadn’t softened his fall.

At first, after the world stopped spinning and his entire body stopped aching, Stiles thought that landing on Hale was accidental and he had a full five seconds of pure glee at the universe for allowing such thing to happen.

He then had realized that Hale hadn’t softened his fall; he had purposefully caught Stiles in the air. And doing that hadn’t even hurt Hale at all. Damn werewolves.

Once all his brain functions came back online, Stiles had noticed that his back was flush against Hale’s front. And by the way it felt against his back, Hale was as fit as he looked. Also there was a very distinct feeling of a little _something_ against Stiles lower back and, while it was obviously not hard, it mostly certain not little at all. Oh no. And that was something Stiles hadn’t wanted to think too hard about. Or, he would get hard. So many hardships in one moment alone.

The little mental pun made Stiles giggle like a child, which made Hale look worriedly at Deaton and ask about brain damage. _Rude_.

They kept practicing for longer, until Stiles had blacked out, only to wake up to Hale’s face too close of his face for his tastes. He had yelped mainly (or so he had told himself in order to maintain his illusion of dignity) and Hale had just stared at him, before pulling back and telling Deaton his heartbeat was back to normal. Which hadn’t made any sense at all, but by then, Stiles was beyond done with everything, his entire body ached and he wanted to sleep. For ten days.

Except his classes were about to start. Oh joy.

Deaton had said something about new training session and some books he wanted Stiles to read before Stiles left, but he was zoning out too bad to pay proper attention. Deaton must have realized it, because the last thing Stiles actually heard before leaving the clinic was an aggravated sigh and something about emails. Whatever. Stiles could give a damn about it once he wasn’t feeling like he was some roadkill.

Stiles walked out, backpack dangling from his arm, looking around and trying to muster enough strength to walk back to the dorm. It seemed like an insurmountable task with his legs feeling weak and the small tremors coursing through him. He was close to deciding to sit down and take a nap on the floor outside the clinic, when he felt a hand closing in his arm.

He tried to run, Stiles really did. But his legs refused to work and all he managed to do was slip and fall on his knees. Or almost did, since the hand on his arm moved fast enough to support his weight before he hit the floor.

Stiles looked up, fully prepared to face death, when he actually saw the stubbled chin of Hale.

“Wha?” Stiles asked unintelligent. He had thought Hale wasn’t out for his blood, but maybe all the bickering had set him to his grave.

Hale rolled his eyes and pulled Stiles up. He locked his knees and actually managed to stay standing, even if he was swaying ever so slightly.

“You’re dead on your feet,” Hale said, though not unkindly. Huh.

“‘M tired,” Stiles mumbled in reply. He should probably sass him in some way, but it was more effort than it was worth.

“You don’t say.” Hale deadpanned, nudging Stiles forward to walk.

Stiles walked few steps, before stopping and turning to face Hale. He didn’t understand what the alpha was doing. Was that a plot to off Stiles? Was he taking Stiles to a more secluded location, away from Deaton’s eyes? Would Deaton even care, to begin with?

“Where are you taking me?” Stiles asked, trying to hold his ground as Hale tugged him again. Stiles realized belatedly that if Hale wanted to drag him, there was no amount of kicking and screaming that would be enough to stop him. He squinted at the alpha. “Are you trying to lull me into a false sense of security so you can rip my throat out with your teeth?”

Hale looked at Stiles as if he was completely insane - a look he was fully used to - and then rolled his eyes, letting go of Stiles’ arm to cross his own. The moment he did, though the world tilted alarmingly, and soon the hand was back at his arm, stopping the tilting. Stiles blinked confusedly, until he realized he was keening over without Hale’s steadying hand holding him still. He would feel humiliated, if he had the energy for so much.

“Listen, I have absolutely no interest in harming you, even though you’re impossible to deal with.” Hale groused, glaring a bit. His glare didn’t look half as impressive as it did back in the vet clinic, though, and Stiles pinned it down to his own exhaustion. He was losing touch with reality. “I’m taking you home.”

“You’re what?”

“Taking you. To your dorm,” Hale announced slowly, “Did that overcharge with the telluric currents really damage your brain?”

Stiles made an indignant noise, way too high pitched to be anything but amusing. In fact, Hale was smirking a bit. Bastard. He tugged again and Stiles let himself be taken for a few more steps. He had no idea what was the difference of having to walk with or without Hale, except maybe the fact that Hale was preventing him from kissing the ground.

“How do you even know where I live, huh? Are you stalking me?”

Hale stared again and this time he did look concerned. Stiles found it fascinating how he could communicate entire sentences with only his eyebrows. He wondered if one day Isaac would achieve that level of non-verbal communicative skill with his own eyebrows. It was something to fill for later discussion with Scott.

“I’m starting to believe you did suffer some brain damage.” Hale wondered aloud and Stiles felt offended for whole ten seconds, until he realized that Hale probably knew where was his dorm because Stiles was literally living with part of his pack.

Stiles smartly decided to keep his mouth shut - mostly because talking was tiring him out. They walked a bit more, turning the corner on the animal clinic, when Stiles was faced with a sleek black sport car. Hale pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, making the car’s headlight blink brightly, before turning off. Stiles looked at Hale with a raised eyebrow - or well, he tried. He wasn’t sure he had mastered the eyebrow thing yet.

“Really? How telling.” Stiles snickered and Hale said nothing, only pushed Stiles against the side of the car and opened the passenger’s seat door. Stiles slid down a bit, but stayed mostly upright. “Are you compensating for something, Hale, hm? A car this flashy, so telling, so telling.”

Laughing, Stiles slid down a bit more, before Hale grabbed him and shoved him inside the car. Stiles yelped in surprise and fell on the car sit badly, hitting his shoulder on the car gear rather painfully. He moaned sadly at one more pain to his never ending collection of achy body parts.

“That’s alpha brutality, Hale, I know my rights,” Stiles complained inanely, after he managed to pull his legs inside the car and sit properly. Hale snorted in response and went around the car, getting into the driver’s seat.

“Do you ever shut up?” Hale sighed, starting the car. It purred to life and Stiles had to admit that that car was sexy. He didn’t even have a car kink, but he had one for that car.

Laughing, Stiles wiggled into his seat, getting more comfortable. He looked at Hale’s profile as he drove away from the vet clinic. His eyes were trained on the road and his hands were wrapped securely around the steering wheel. Stiles wondered how life would be like if he was as attractive as Hale was. His features weren’t perfect - now that Stiles was staring, he could notice how his ears were slightly turned forward or how when his lips parted, he could see how he had a bit of bunny teeth. But it seemed endearing, instead of a flaw, it made Hale slightly more real. Maybe Stiles was too tired and his brain was turned to dust, but up close, with only the occasional lamppost light shining on his features, Hale seemed even more attractive.

“Nope.” Stiles answered after a moment, giving an lopsided smile to Hale.

Hale briefly turned to look at Stiles. A different car passed beside them in the opposite direction and, as the headlights shone on Hale’s face, his eyes shone like a cat’s. The moment was brief, but sobering. Tired or not, attractive or not, Stiles couldn’t forget exactly what the other guy was.

“Is that compensating for something? Your incessant babblering?” Hale asked with a smirk.

“You’re not funny, Hale,” Stiles stated, resting his head against the window. He wanted to take a nap, but the car travel wasn’t far enough for a nap and Stiles was sure he wouldn’t wake up once he fell asleep. He patted his pocket for his mobile, and pulled it out. Stiles stared at the screen for a moment, uncomfortable in the car silence, when Hale addressed him again.

“Derek.”

“What?”

“Call me Derek.” Hale - Derek - said, and Stiles gaped at him.

“Why?”

“Well, that’s my name, I would think that having a name means being called by it.” Derek sassed and Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek, for his part, looked immensily satisfied with himself.

“Don’t be a smartass. I mean why are you being nice to me. You don’t know me.”

“No I don’t.” Derek agreed easily.

Stiles waited for several seconds but Derek said nothing at all. Stiles huffed in annoyance, because it was pretty clear that Derek was enjoying messing with Stiles.

“So.”

Derek parked his car and Stiles looked startled around, only to notice they had already got to the dorm. He blinked in surprise, because he never noticed how fast Derek had driven him. He looked back and Derek was watching him calmly.

“Boyd texted me and asked me to take you home,” Derek said at last, and Stiles made a soft ‘oh’ in response. He had forgotten to call Boyd as he had asked.

Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about that, about the free demonstration of care from a guy he barely knew. Part of him felt like Stiles should probable be careful, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly warm at the idea he maybe, just maybe, Boyd was looking out for him with no ulterior motives.

“Also I’m sure Scott wouldn’t forgive me if I let you go home alone and you ended up falling head first on the sidewalk and cracked your skull,” Derek continued, his tone light and slightly amused.

Stiles, despite himself, blushed. Knowing that Scott was talking about him, even if they were reunited only for a few days and that Boyd had cared enough to ask his alpha to drive Stiles home made him giddy. He nodded mutely, and opened the door, climbing out of the car, standing at the sidewalk for a moment, before walking towards his building.

“Goodnight, Stiles.” He head Derek call from the car and Stiles half turned, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

Stiles turned to see if Derek had left, but he was still parked on the sidewalk. As soon as Stiles entered the building, he rolled the windows up and drove away.

Slightly confused and feeling weirdly good, Stiles went back to his room.

 

* * *

 

It was pit dark when Derek was awaken by the sound of someone getting into his room. He sat up, fully alert, when he saw Erica padding inside the room.

“Erica. What?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

It wasn’t uncommon for Erica to be around the house, especially since she had decided against going to college, but it was highly atypical of her to get into his bedroom late at night for no reason. She got lonely sometimes, especially with Lydia away studying in MIT and Allison down in Berkeley. It didn’t help that Boyd and Isaac had decided to follow Scott in his stupid decision to live the college dorm life, to get the real college experience, as Scott had animated put. She ended up bored out of her mind more often than not, and Derek was a good victim to bother as any other.

Still, even if Derek wasn’t about to admit out loud, he was glad that she had decided to follow her alpha. Though Derek strongly suspected that her reason for coming to Davis had more to do with Boyd than with himself.

Erica had no make up on, and her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, but she was still wearing a jeans and her signature corset. But the soberness of her expression and the lack of joking alone told Derek the gravity of the situation.

“I was doing rounds and I smelled them.” She started, sitting on the end of Derek’s bed. “That pack that is round on us.”

Derek huffed, nostrils flaring, and slowly passed a hand on his face. The entire pack was in alert because of the rival pack closing in on them.

Davis wasn’t Hale territory technically: Davis was open and unruled by any pack for a long time. The local pack - the Davis pack - had been wiped out year before, when Derek was still a child. He vaguely remembered the sadness in his household when the news about the Davis pack got to them. Killed, every single pack member, killers unknown. It was obvious for Derek that it was the work of rogue hunters, but his childhood self barely had paid any attention to the alarming news.

That meant that they had enough freedom to move into the territory and establish themselves without much trouble. There were several other werewolves in Davis, mostly college students, and even a pack or two that had done pretty much the same thing as Derek had, but the territory was open for anyone to move. There was an unspoken agreement to keep Davis neutral and unclaimed, something that back in the days the Davis pack still controlled the area, was still true: they used to let wolves come and go, study at the college and live there for the time they needed, without having to join the pack and sever ties with their original packs. It was a matter of courtesy of sorts. The pack moving in just had to meet the alphas of the resident packs, agree about dividing space so no tension arise over crossing territory. which Derek had done with Scott. They had their area, theirs to protect and live in until it was time to go back to Beacon Hills.

Which was why the invading pack was so alarming. They weren’t coming to establish themselves, maybe because they had several young packmates going to Davis, oh no. That pack was maneuvering into their territory - the area under Hale and McCall influence - with clearly offensive intention. A pack coming in peace would never evade and conceal their scents like they were doing.

“There is more.” Erica added after a moment of silence. She was never one to beat around the bush, and that scared Derek.

“What.”

“There’s… There’s a corpse on the woods.”

Blood drained from Derek’s face, before fury coursed through his veins, tinging his eyes with red. A low growl started rumbling in his chest, and Erica cringed a bit, even if his fury wasn’t directed to her. Derek breathed in slowly, taking the reign over his temper.

“Anyone we know?” Derek asked with dread. He silently begged to be anyone but his betas. Or Stiles.

Stiles?

“No, it seems to be an omega. Didn’t smell like he had a pack or anything.” Erica shook his head, picking on her nails. “They bit his neck, almost beheading him, Derek.”

Derek nodded. That was a clear warning, a sign of war coming. Derek slid off bed, and picked his jeans off the floor, pulling them on. He rummaged for a clean shirt and put it on, before picking his phone, keys and jacket. He left his bedroom without looking back, knowing that Erica would follow him.

Erica stopped him though.

“There’s something you need to know as well.” Erica pulled her phone from her pocket, handing it to Derek. “They sent as a message.”

The picture was as gruesome as expected from a murder scene. But what called Derek’s attention wasn’t all the blood. Was the note Erica had taken a picture of. It was slightly out of focus, like her hands were shaking when she snapped the picture - they probably were - but it was perfectly readable.

 

_The spark is ours,_

_Aldaine_

 

“Take me there,” Derek all but barked, seeing red, “And call the others.”

 

* * *

 

College, Stiles soon found out, was a insane version of high school.

His first week of classes went on a blink of an eye. He went to classes, met his teachers and classmates, saw himself invited to three parties from people he had never seen before within the first three days of classes. Stiles was ecstatic, because college happened to be everything he expected it to be, and even more.

High school had been difficult for Stiles. To his bad luck, the few people he connected with in middle school, went to different high schools than Stiles. He wasn’t a loner or antisocial, but he knew he was a hard person to connect with, with his motor mouth and predilection for heavy sarcasm at all times. Stiles didn’t have other redeeming features that could help him achieve at least a position of nobody on school - he wasn’t a good athlete, he wasn’t part of any important student club, he wasn’t even smart enough to be perceived as a genius. Stiles was smart and his grades were amazing, but he often was known more for the out of topic assignments he turned in, than for the brilliance of his papers. He ended up being a lonely loser, half shunned by people who didn’t stand and and mostly ignored by other part.

And being alone in high school meant being bullied and that was hard enough to stand through those years. It was never bad enough to force Stiles into doing something - like seeking an adult for help, but it was hurtful all the same. Stiles ended up deciding that college was his ticket to a better social experience and he was glad to see that his hopes were paying off.

Having Scott, Boyd, and even Isaac with him made things considerably easier too. Scott, with his sunny personality, attracted people effortlessly, Boyd was a surprisingly good conversationalist, for someone who preferred to speak as little as possible and Isaac was actually a hit amongst boys and girls alike. Stiles, being in the middle of that trio, ended up being easily assimilated into groups. Granted, people still took his heavy sarcasm and quips with a low level of annoyance, but it seemed to be slightly more acceptable, be it because Scott and cia were acting like buffering or maybe because, while college didn’t change who people were, it operated under different rules.

But not everything was flowers in college, and Stiles was soon met with ridiculous workloads and assignments and a stupid number of readings. It wasn’t long before Stiles decided that a coffee maker was a necessity and bullied his roommates into buying one. Surprisingly enough, they did get one for free Derek appeared with one of those espresso machines that operate with capsules. At first, Stiles got insanely annoyed, because that meant buying said capsules and they were expensive. But then he realized Derek had got them a impressive supply of those and he felt nothing but begrudging gratefulness.

Derek was, in fact, a weird fixture in his life. He thought that the weird night training at the vet clinic would be it, but to his utter surprise, Stiles bumped into Derek around the campus more often than not. It set Stiles in a bit of paranoid frenzy that Derek was stalking him, because it was just ridiculous how many times he would bump on him.

That and how often Derek was over while he was training with Deaton.

One afternoon, down to the middle of the semester, Stiles decided to confront Derek about it. He was in the library when he spotted the mop of artistically disheveled dark hair that he knew being Derek’s.

He marched to the table and dropped his things in front of where Derek was sitting. He startled, looking up from a heavy-looking book he was reading. Or pretending to.

“What the hell.” Derek hissed, eyebrows pulled down in scowl. It was a expression Stiles had long figured out as ‘You are about ten seconds from me ripping you a new one’. It would be more intimidating if Derek actually ever got around to do any harm on Stiles, though he never did.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, louder than he should for a library. He got some glares in return.

“What does it look like, Stiles,” Derek in a subvocal growl, gesturing to the book on the table, “I’m reading. A book. In a library. Which I reckon is what you usually do in libraries, in case you’re not familiar with the concept.”

Stiles got red in the face. One thing he soon found out about Derek was that as much as he had of growly and full of eyebrow communication, he also had of sass and dry witty. Which meant that Stiles was often faced with Derek being a grade-A asshole.

Maybe Stiles found it slightly endearing. Maybe. He wasn't’ about to say that out loud and most certainly not to Derek himself.

“Are you really-” Stiles started, much too loud again. This time he heard several ‘Shhhhh’ directed at him. He glared at everybody in his vicinity, but restarted in a more acceptable tone of voice. “Are you really trying to convince me that you’re here in the library just reading a book? You’re much too old for being a undergrad.”

Derek shut the book with a loud thump and stood up, before grabbing Stiles’ by the elbow and practically dragging him out. Stiles opened his mouth to complain - loudly - about it, but he shut up when Derek glared at him. Okay, Stiles could wait until they were out of the library.

Once they stepped outside, Stiles pulled himself away. He got up and close into Derek’s personal space. It was probably a very stupid thing to do with an alpha, but Derek had proven to be safe. Or safe-ish. As safe as an alpha werewolf could be, at very least.

“Dude, never ever manhandle me again, got it?” Stiles said. They were, surprisingly, more or less the same height. Derek always seemed so imposing because of his muscular body, but now, that Stiles was nose to nose with him, he realized it was more a matter of perception, of how Derek carried himself.

“I’ll manhandle you if you behave like a lunatic.” Derek said lowly. Stiles hated him for the low voice, hate his control when Stiles wanted him to explode.

Which was positively the opposite of what Stiles ever wanted from a werewolf. He never wanted one to lose control around Stiles, he was painfully aware how dangerous a werewolf could be when they did, but Derek was always so controlled, Stiles wanted to maybe prove himself right, that all werewolves were a danger.

“Me, a lunatic? Me? I’m not the one stalking here-”

“I’m not stalking you, you idiot. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I don’t care about you enough to stalk you.”

Wincing, Stiles gave half a step back. Because he knew that wasn’t true. IF Derek didn’t care, he wouldn’t be on every single one of Stiles’ practical training sessions, he wouldn’t always drive Stiles home later. He wouldn’t care enough to make small talk or even help him study.

All of a sudden, Stiles realized that Derek was more present in his life than he ever imagined.

And it felt amazing. It felt right.

“Liar.” Stiles got close again, with regained purpose. Because maybe, maybe he wanted Derek to lose control, but in a completely different way. It wasn’t violence he wanted.

“Your ego is astounding really-”

“You like me,” Stiles stated and, making a leap of faith, put a hand on Derek’s chest. “You like me and you’re stalking me.”

“I’m not stalking you. I’m not an undergrad, you’re right. I’m pursuing my Masters here.”

What?

“What.” Stiles quacked in surprise. He went to step back, but Derek slid one arm around Stiles, resting his palm on his lower back. Stiles’ heartbeat skyrocket in response.

“I’m using this time to pursue my Masters,” Derek repeated, clearly amused, “But you’re right about something: I do like you.”

“Oh.”

“You’re insufferable and I feel like punching you in the face more often than not, but I like it. I like how you still defy me, even if you’re afraid.”

“Am not.”

“You are. Not of me.” Derek amended, getting even closer. They were touching everywhere, feet, chest, arms. “But of what I am.”

“I-”

“I don’t care. I know something happened and I can wait for you to tell me.” Derek said, he closed the space between their lips, almost touching, but not quite. “I can’t wait to kiss you, though.”

Stiles surged forward and kissed him.

The kiss was as tempestuous as they were. It was hard and furious, fast and hard. Stiles griped at Derek’s shirt, while he cupped his cheek with the other hand, feeling the stubble under his fingers. Derek’s hands were _everywhere_. Up his back, down his torso, trailing his arms. He seemed to want to memorize Stiles with his fingertips, take him in with all his senses and Stiles felt like he was burning.

They got even closer, hips flush against each other, when someone cleared his throat behind them.

Stiles stepped back, completely aware that his lips were swollen and shining with spit, that his hair was even more messy than normal and that Derek looked every bit as disheveled as he did.

Isaac was looking at them, eyebrows doing a very real impression of Hale Unimpressed Look.

“One, you guys are disgusting,” Isaac started counting on his fingers. Stiles felt like snapping them and, by the way Derek was brooding, he probably felt the same. “Two, we have an emergency, Derek. Three: _finally_.”

Stiles thought about questioning about the finally - what did he mean by that when Stiles himself had only just figured out their attraction? - but he had more pressing matters.

“Emergency?” Stiles asked, as Derek turned full attention at Isaac.

“What happened.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand and Isaac stood a bit straighter at the tone of Derek’s voice.

“What we feared. The Aldaine pack is here.”

Stiles felt his world shook, tilt and turn. He gripped Derek’s arm, feeling his chest constrict in a way he was all too familiar with. Derek gripped him back, with strength enough to hurt, and turned Stiles’ face to him. They stared at each other, Stiles shaking in naked terror and Derek, fury.

“They are not touching you, Stiles. I won’t let them.” Derek paused and looked back at Isaac, that nodded. He got closer and touched Stiles’ shoulder. It was probably one of the few moments Isaac had voluntarily touched Stiles and it somehow grounded Stiles from his impending panic attack.

“We won’t let them.”

Stiles breathed in. Breathed out. And for one, he believed he was safe among werewolves.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS ENDING. I know it's inconclusive and I know I left everything open, and I have no one to blame except my poor time management. 
> 
> If it helps, I fully intend to go over this fic again and rewrite it properly, building it up as it should.
> 
>  **THANK YOU SO MUCH** to my beta @xixien and all the people Jacqui, Kyla, Alice, Ray, Melanie and all the people in the Sterek Writers, for the unending support and invaluable help! You all amazing!
> 
> I've been trying to post this for HOURS and my internet is sucking a lot, so I hope this goes through okay.
> 
> title is a 1D song that I happened to be listening at the time of posting. oops
> 
> Also MERRY XMAS!


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